The Girl who Fell Through Time
by starfirej23
Summary: An impossible accident brought her to the past, and her actions changed everything she had ever known. Magic more powerful than her wildest dreams unleashed consequences beyond her control. Hermione Granger knew things would never be the same. The question was whether everything she loved would survive the fallout.
1. A Wrinkle in Time

*Authors Note:

This is my first published fiction intended to be more than a one shot. I am also in the market for a few beta readers if anyone has an interest. Please read and review, and thank you for your patience if you decide to continue with the story (It's going to be a long one :) ).

A Wrinkle in Time

Classes were over, she had no more exams to study for, and once again Hermione was disappointed. It was time to go home. She felt more than a twinge of guilt. What kind of daughter was she, that she never wanted to leave Hogwarts once the school year was over? She loved her mother and father, and she always enjoyed her holidays, but there was always something...missing.

Absently, her hand slid up and down the surface of the polished wand in her robe pocket. The world just wasn't the same without magic, and it angered her that the ministry imposed such harsh restrictions for the holidays. Restrictions that only the muggle borns were really subject too. Even a bit of wandless magic was detectable by the trace that monitored the area surrounding it, but somehow not restricted to the magic of the student themselves. She knew that any magic performed in a magical household was disregarded. How else would Fred and George carry out their summer experiments?

Hermione sighed, and abruptly let go of her wand, taking her hand out of her pocket. It was no use to wallow, she told herself firmly as she made her way down to the great hall. It was only the summer, and then the next two summers after that. Then, her wand was really hers.

She was due for a break from magic anyway, she scolded herself. Hadn't she had enough excitement, rescuing an innocent convict and misunderstood hippogriff? Not to mention living about a quarter of a year over again with the time turner. She stopped mid step.

Reluctantly, she turned about and made towards McGonagall's office. A time turner she should return about now actually, since she no longer needed it for class. She hummed lightly under her breath as she walked slowly towards the Deputy Headmistress's abode. It was rather curious actually, that Professor's quarters and offices were put together, she mused. Though it would be more convenient than having students get confused in an emergency about where the professors could be found. She blinked, her eyes widening. Oh! Why on earth didn't they have emergency alarms? Accidents were frequent enough.

A minute later she smiled to herself. Well of course, they had the portraits. They were everywhere weren't they? She scowled. Though some portraits had more sense than others. She wondered if that was determined by the character of the original subject, or by the talent of the artist? Who painted the paintings anyway? She had never heard of any famous wizarding artists.

Her thoughts thuswise occupied, Hermione Granger made her way towards the transfiguration classroom on autopilot, her feet following the route known by heart. She came here often enough aside from class. Professor McGonagall was by far her favourite Professor, though Vector ran a guilty second. Hermione supposed she oughtn't feel too bad. Professors had their favourite students just as students had their favourite Professors. Only, she was certain that she was Vector's favourite, even if only in her year. McGonagall had always had a way of making her feel more adult, however. It was the feeling of respect that she enjoyed so much from the usually stern woman. If she didn't have the Professor's utmost trust, would she have ever been given the power to change time, even in such a small way?

Idly, Hermione turned the time device in her hand, fighting no small longing. It was such a wonderful piece of magic. The sand inside glittered, shifting as she tilted it. Hermione wondered with longing if she'd ever get to use the device she had come to treasure again. With it she had accomplished so much. Not her grades, but what she had done for Harry, for Sirius. Harry had always been the brother she looked up to, the hero. But this time Hermione had helped him accomplish something more than just a trick with a potion, a mirror around a corner. She had saved them all. The smile faded from her face, and her feet stalled. The device would not be hers again next year. McGonagall had told her so, that she would have to narrow down her course selections by one. Luckily, fourth year was more heavily oriented to research than class time. Hermione would manage. A soft sound, just a slight scuffle, made her look up sharply. She enclosed the time device in her hand, letting the long sleeves of her school robe cover her hand (though she put it slightly behind her for good measure. "Who's there?" she asked, her voice sharper than she had intended.

The sound faded, and it was quiet. Too quiet. The hair on the back of Hermione's neck rose, and she plucked her wand from her pocket, taking an inching step forward. Suddenly, there was a loud bang, and Peeves came tearing around the corner, cackling madly. Hermione tried to stumble out of the way but he bowled past, knocking her over. Hermione was then staring dazedly at the stone ceiling, and she raised her hand to her forehead to still her suddenly throbbing headache. She heard the crunch of glass and realized her hand stung. She raised it to her face, and saw a small amount of blood, several small pieces of glass embedded in her hand. Grains of gold sand glittered against her skin.

Hermione sat upright abruptly. "No! No no no no no no!" She yelped, staring at the remains of the time turner in horror, gaze flicking to the sand scattered on the floor. "I'm dead," she moaned, "Merlin!" Her hand clenched and she winced, remembering the glass. Gingerly, she turned over onto her hand and knees, trying to ignore the throbbing in her head. She opened her hand and stared at the now deep cuts. As she watched, several drops of blood dripped from her hand onto the sand covered stone. "Ouch!" she muttered. "Episkey!" There was a spark as the glass shards yanked themselves from her hand, and Hermione felt heat around her knees. She looked down and saw that her knees were slowly sinking into the stone. A prank of Peeves? She wriggled, placing her healed but bloody hand into the stone to try and pull herself up. Her hand sank through the stone, and she realized that the glittering sand was shifting. Before her eyes it began to glow, and her eyes opened wide.

Hermione struggled, but the stone shifted, drawing her deeper and melting around her knees and hands. "Help!" she screamed down the hall. "Someone help me! Professor!" her voice rose to a shrill shriek. " _Anyone!"_ Tears of panic rose in her eyes as she sunk deeper and deeper, but no answer came. Hermione continued to shout, until she felt pressure drop out from under her and she was sucked into a great vacuum. The heat was gone, and all that remained was terrible, terrifying cold.

She couldn't breath; her lungs worked desperately but gained no purchase. She was dying! She was- A monstrous pressure leached all thought from Hermione's brain as she succumbed to nauseating pain.

She was gasping and retching as she sucked in breaths of life giving air. She crammed her eyes closed against blinding light, not knowing anything but pain for several long moments. Tears leaked from her eyes, and it was the salt on her tongue that finally brought her to her senses. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes a sliver, then closed them again against the harsh sun. Drawing in several deep breaths, she tried again, blinking rapidly while trying to ignore the roiling of her stomach. She was lying on her back on the ground, the distant bells and whistles of traffic a harsh cocaugheny on her ringing ears.

She choked back a wretched sob and tried to calm her rapid breathing. She wasn't dead. She wasn't- traffic? Still blinking back tears, Hermione gingerly sat up. Deliberately engaging in some breathing exercises, Hermione assessed her surroundings. She was not at Hogwarts. She was not even in Scotland. She knew this park, though the trees she knew had been trimmed back. There were several new shrubs. The worn path had been redone. She was in London. London. Hermione buried her face in her hands in relief. She had been apparated. That was all. Just apparated. She didn't know how, but she was only in London. She wasn't dead. Sucking in a final deep breath, Hermione stood, brushing the dirt off of the back of her slightly torn skirt. Her robe was nowhere to be seen, but she found a few sickles in her loafers. Her wand- her wand! Hermione looked about wildly, leaning down and patting the ground, then groaned. Her wand had been left behind. It must have been knocked from her hand when Peeves ran her over. She had thought she could call the bus to take her home, but if she didn't have her wand… she sighed, hoping they would send her trunk home on the train. She still had a day to owl the school and let them know where she was. She could make it home in time, and have her mother drive her to Diagon Alley...On second thought, the Leaky Cauldron was closer than home. She could send an owl, then call her parents and have them pick her up.

With a sigh and a wince for her abused body, she started down the park path. It was going to be a fairly long walk. She rounded the bend near the park entrance and passed a lady with a stroller, who gave her an odd look. Hermione pouted once she was out of sight. So she was a little dirty. She wasn't the one wearing a dress that looked straight out of the forties with that antique stroller.

Hermione sniffed, trying not to be miffed. She supposed she did kind of look like a ragamuffin. She patted her hair, making sure it wasn't too messy. To her dismay, she found a twig or two. "Wonderful," she muttered as she exited the park gate, which looked newly shined.

She stopped, frowning as she gazed down the street, taking stock of the new stonework. Well it was nice that they had redone the road. The sound of a carborator rattled from the right, and Hermione blinked, astounded, as a long automobile rounded the corner towards her. She stared as it drove past, her mouth hanging open until it was at least 30 feet down the road. Had that been...a Brougham?

What? Slowly, Hermione closed her mouth, shaking her head. Those were so out of date her grandfather would have been almost too young for one! Another car passed, just as old, and honked at her, making her jump. Hermione grinned. There must be a convention of some sort going on. Her father would likely be right in the thick of things.

She walked several blocks, seeing more old fashioned cars, and even a few people on antique bicycles! Dressed to the nines in the fashions of the late thirties. She couldn't believe that her parents hadn't written to tell her that this kind of thing was happening. It must have taken months to plan and they knew she loved historical events! ' _Maybe,'_ a thought chimed in, ' _they wanted it to be a surprise.'_

Hermione was giddy, practically bouncing down the street. Whatever had happened to cause her abrupt departure from Hogwarts, it clearly hadn't turned out so badly. She would have a full extra two days to participate! She wondered if her mum had any old clothes tucked away that would fit?

Beaming, she spotted the Reference Library up the road, and snagged a paper from the outdoor stand, skimming it for news about the historical event they were putting on. This building had a fresh coat of paint too!

She read the contents eagerly at first, and then with a progressive frown. This paper was all wrong. The layout, the font. The date on in the corner read August 26, 1940. August...That wasn't right. This was June! June! There wasn't anything about a historical events. Surely, whatever was happening wouldn't be so detailed to change the newspapers too? Trembling, Hermione looked down the street. A street she had walked down at least once or twice before. Everything looked newer. Not just the road. Sucking in a deep breath, Hermione ducked into the library, and the ring of the bell startled her.

A sharp faced, bespectacled man in a waistcoat popped up behind the and. "Can I help you?" He asked sharply, looking her up and down with a stern from.

Hermione swallowed. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but could you please remind me of the date today? Is this today's paper?" she held it up.

He glanced at it with a puzzled frown. "I put those out this morning yes. Today's the twenty-sixth." Sceptically, he looked her up and down. "What happened to your clothes miss…?"

"Granger." Hermione replied thoughtlessly, feeling numb. "Please excuse me," she exited with haste, bolting as soon as she was out the door and darting into a narrow but clean alley.

Shaking, she sank to the ground, staring at the paper clenched tightly in her hands. Hermione Jean Granger had never been the type of girl to ignore the blatent truth, no matter how inconvenient.

She didn't understand how or why it had happened, but she had to accept the truth for what it was.

Hermione Jean Granger was fourteen, wandless, and alone in 1940.


	2. Unexpected Results

Authors Note: Thanks to the readers who have followed this story already :), it made me write a lot faster. I love to hear what people think, so please read and review! Unexpected Results

Unexpected Results

* * *

She had used the visitors entrance to the Ministry for magic twice before. Once, when Minerva Mcgonagall had escorted her and her parents for a meeting with undersecretary for muggleborn family management, and another when there had been a small misunderstanding of the statute of secrecy involving her father and a twice removed cousin. Luckily, the public call box, though much newer looking, functioned perfectly well when she dialed the passcode, and she only suffered a small jolt as it descended underground. She took the printed visitors pass, and when the door opened she approached the wand inspection point nervously.

The wizard on duty did not look up at first, shuffling some paperwork around on the desk. Hermione waited a moment, then cleared her throat . He blinked, raising his head slightly, and he peered at her in amazement. "Visitor?"

"I, err...yes?" She managed to get out.

He blinked several times in rapid succession. "Yes, right. I'm sorry young lady, but where are your parents?"

Hermione felt a sense of rising panic, but managed to force a calm expression to remain on her face. "I'm terribly sorry, but I don't have any. I'm looking for the department in charge of magical wardship? I don't have a wand, but I was told to come here to ask for direction."

"No parents?" He was aghast. "But what is a young girl like you doing wandering around by yourself? You'll have to come back with a guardian of some kind. Now who keeps you, give me a name young lady and I'll call them here."

Come back with a guardian? No longer able to keep her head, Hermione began to cry softly, and even the look of panic on the desk attendants face was not enough to shock her pride back into service. "I'm s-sorry," she managed to get out, "but I really don't have anyone. My parents are dead, and I need to see the department of magical wardship. I can't come back with a guardian because that's why I've come."

Something of her plight must have finally registered, because the attendant shook his hands rapidly in an attempt to stave off her tears. "All right, all right, we'll get you sorted out. One moment here, I'll call you an escort. Stand right there." Her disapparated abruptly, and the shock of the cracking sound was enough for her to regain some semblance of composure. She stood there, quietly sniffling, and by the time he popped back with another wizard in tow she had managed to stop crying, though her hands still trembled.

"This is the one Arcturus, she just came out of nowhere."

Hermione stood silently as the tall, dark haired wizard assured the attendant he would handle the situation, aware all the while of his assessing gaze. The wand inspector turned to Hermione with a kindly smile. "No see here, young lady, Lord Black will take care of you. He's a respectable wizard, you won't run astray with him as your escort."

Not trusting herself to speak yet, Hermione smiled gratefully at him and dipped her head.

'Lord Black' nodded sharply at her and turned, extending his arm. With a start, Hermione realized she was expected to take it. Quickly rushing to do as expected, she reminded herself manners were of a different sort at this period in time. She would have to be careful not to misstep too badly. The first few steps it was difficult, but she was quick to match her steps to his. His sideways and slightly sardonic glance was enough to assure her that he noticed, but she managed to only blush slightly, and made sure to stand up straight. He didn't speak until they were out of the din of the crowd and safely secured in the lift. "You are not well dressed to be appearing at the ministry, but with no parents it is not overly shocking. You are at least properly covered for a girl, unlike some who run about wild. How long have you been without them, and what is your family name?"

Hermione stiffened at his manner of speaking to her, but forced herself to be polite as expected. Quietly, and with as much dignity as she could muster, she replied, "I apologize for my dress, I know it is not the most appropriate for a girl my age. I have never had parents I knew, and I'm afraid I've no idea of my family name."

He shifted beside her, and his gaze was sharper than before. "No family you know of at all?"

Hermione knew which question he was really asking, and though she didn't know if it would make a difference to him, she also knew that she would have no option to be anything but muggleborn her in situation. It made no sense to lie. Better to be honest about what she was, it would hardly make a difference to lie in the long run. "I'm afraid not. I've only just recently discovered I was a witch. I was told to come here and register myself to the ministry of magic. I hope to attend school."

She stared straight ahead at the floors inching slowly past them, and for a few moments he stood absolutely still. When he finally spoke again, it made her jump slightly, and her fingers tightened involuntarily on the bend of his arm. "It would be prudent," he intoned slowly, "for you to be careful where you divulge such information."

Her breath caught silently, for she was surprised at his careful advice. From the history of families she had studied, the House of Black had not been known for tolerance. What had the wand inspector called him? Arcturus? If the name rang correctly, this was Sirius's grandfather on his father's side. What would he say, she wondered, if he knew she had only months before saved his descendant from execution? She wondered if such a man would answer questions about what she could expect. Carefully, she raised her eyes from the lift door and turned slightly, directing a questioning look at him.

He stared straight ahead, but did not ignore her gaze fully. "I had planned to leave you with the secretary, however under the circumstances I think it best to introduce you directly to Madame Ambrose. You can count on her discretion."

Hermione looked up at him curiously, for she was a muggleborn new to this world. "Is it wrong? To not know my family?"

He pursed his lips a little, for it was a topic not openly discussed. "Better for you," he finally said, "that you were from a family of wizards. Less so if you had just one wizarding parent."

"And less so to have none," Hermione finished quietly. "I see."

He nodded curtly.

"Will it cause trouble for me?" This time an honest question.

An elegant shrug. "Perhaps not as much as you might think, perhaps more."

Hermione returned her gaze frontward. "Thank you for your consideration...Lord Black. I'm not unused to such attitudes, but as little attention as I can manage would be preferred."

He sniffed slightly, but the lift door opened to their destined floor, and he started off slightly slower this time than he had the first. This time, Hermione only stumbled a little, and was grateful.

The walk was a brief two minutes, and when they arrived at a plain office door he opened it and ushered her inside. The secretary glanced up and her eyes widened in amazement. She quickly stood, curtseying. "Lord Black," she exhaled nervously. "What can I do for you? It's so unexpected to see you here again so soon."

He did not sneer, though Hermione thought the secretary rather silly. Then again, she had been silly herself, and he was kinder than she had expected, in spite of his cool manner. She remained quiet as he asked after "Madame Ambrose," and was informed she was in her office doing paperwork. Would the Lord Black like her to announce his arrival and his business? Curious eyes looked Hermione over, narrowing slightly at the condition of her clothes, and the smudge of dirt on her face. Hermione glared back, her spine stiffening under such scrutiny.

Little escaped a man such as Arcturus, and he announced in a slightly cooler tone that his business was his own, and he would speak with the Madame directly. Looking mortified to be spoken too so sharply, the secretary offered another quick curtsey and exited through a door to the left of the desk.

Once again alone with her escort, Hermione forced herself to relax her shoulders and smooth her face. "I can see what you meant about discreet. That woman didn't seem to have a subtle bone in her body."

His expression never changed, and yet he managed to look shocked. Too late, Hermione realized the forwardness of her comment, but she barely had time to blush before a quirk of a smile touched the corner of his lips. It was gone so fast she wondered if she'd imagined it, until he rejoined, "It would seem subtlety is not a trait I am likely to experience today. Though transparency is a trait well suited to some, it can get others into trouble, if they do not mind their tongues."

Though his tone was neutral, Hermione knew a reproof when she heard one, and it occurred to her that never in her life had she been so effectively scolded by someone other than her mother. Her cheeks burned, but she had no time to reply before the secretary returned and gestured politely that they could be received.

Determined not to lose track of her tongue again, Hermione pressed her lips together.

"Lord Black, an unexpected pleasure," the witch didn't look up right away, scratching away with her quill. "A moment please, I've almost finished this letter."

"Of course," he replied graciously. "I can think of nothing more important."

Hermione gawked at his irreverent remark, but Madame Ambrose merely snorted, not glancing up as she continued to write. "Oh don't ply that nonsense with me Arcturus. I've none of the patience today for your prim and proper wordplay. I've a mess to sort, so if this a game of yours you can clear out."

"Unfortunately, I've had the luck to inflict real work on you this morning."

The scratching of her quill finally stopped, and she straightened in the chair. As she raised her eyes in an eagle like stare to take in the two of them in front of her office door, Hermione was reminded of Professor McGonagall's sharp wit and even temper. This comparison comforted her, though the look of pure loathing she directed at Lord Black was more comical an expression than she had ever seen on the reserved face of her deputy headmistress. "With an enquiry in progress to review independent minor legislation and a missing muggleborn runaway who's shown no trace of magic since they disappeared, couldn't you have picked a better time to come up with a real excuse to harass me?"

"Perhaps I could have picked a better time, alas I cannot control when a parentless waif shows up at the visitation desk. She's muggleborn, and apparently in need to apply for state wardship. The legislation enquiry at least, will have to wait."

Hermione was amazed at the easy way he returned this lively witch's jibes, and some of it must have shown on her face for suddenly she was the object of an amused and slightly harassed looking expression. "Apply for state wardship? I've received no news of any accidents for any muggleborn parents, and we keep a close watch on all of them, as far as I know. What's your name dear?"

Hermione stepped forward evenly and offered her hand. "My name is Jean, it's all I've ever gone by. As for why you've had no accidents reported, I've never been in possession of parents." A cough sounded behind her, and when she glanced back a little laugh came from the witch behind the desk.

By the time she brought her gaze forward again, Madame Ambrose's expression was perfectly neutral. "No parents?" She frowned. "How old are you dear?"

"Fourteen. Just turning I think." A lie, but she had been a year older than her classmates. Fourteen would put her in fourth year at Hogwarts.

"Fourteen?" Hermione detected the flat note of disbelief in the older witches voice, and shrank a little.

"I think, anyway," she muttered defensively. "It's hard to keep track."

Madame Ambrose's face softened just a touch. "Fourteen is old. You've never gotten a letter, or a visit?"

Hermione looked away, playing at embarrassment. "I don't have an address, I move around a lot. I didn't know…." She bit her lip. She had rehearsed this, knowing she would need a story. "I was in the market, and I was hungry." She let a plaintive note creep into her voice. "I was just looking at an apple, but i wanted it really badly...The next thing I knew, it was floating in front of me, then someone was dragging me into an alley. They yelled at me, something about wandless magic in front of...muddles? I didn't understand, and they bought me a pastry and explained about what I had done, and that I was a witch, and that I should go to Hogwarts. They let me in the moving brick wall, and showed me the call box, but said it wouldn't look good for them to take me farther." Hermione bit her lip, chewing it nervously. "They said since I didn't have parents I should ask for state wardship. That I could go to school."

Madame Ambrose was looking at her in amazement. "That's...someone just let you in Diagon Alley and showed you the Visitor's entrance?" She was suddenly scowling. "And just left you on your own to boot. What ninny would go to all that trouble and -" she broke off. "Oh for the love of Merlin. It was probably some halfway decent pureblood brat who didn't want flack from their parents."

Arcturus scoffed lightly from behind Hermione, reminding her that he was there. "If you have no further need of me?" he addressed Madame Ambrose dryly.

"Of with you then," she snipped back. "She's in good hands."

As he left, Hermione made an awkward curtsey out of politeness. His sardonic glance left her uncertain, but it was the older witches bemused expression that set Hermione's cheeks aflame.

"What ever on earth did you curtsey for my dear girl?"

"I-," Hermione floundered. "The desk attendant- He's a lord, isn't he?"

Madame ambrose smiled wanly, and gestured for Hermione to sit in the the padded white armchair facing her desk. "Ah yes well," she hummed. "I suppose muggles do it a bit differently don't they. Since you don't know much, it can't hurt. There are pureblood names that belong to what are called the Sacred Twenty Eight. These are our oldest wizarding families, with the most respected names. The head of each of the sacred twenty eight is a lord or lady. It is a gesture of respect for the ancient names, but nobody goes about curtseying and bowing except in formal or ceremonial settings. It's an awful waste of time, and the title is sufficient."

"Oh." Pureblood traditions had always been something Hermione had never bothered with. She had more important things to study than learning 101 ways to not offend Draco bloody Malfoy.

"You'll learn in time," she smiled gently. "Now, fourteen is a little old to be starting school. Our children usually start at Eleven. Can you read and write?"

Hermione nodded.

"Excellent. I thought you must, you speak quite clearly. Could you read this and copy it for me?" She pushed handwritten card across the desk, and a bit of stationary.

Hermione took the proffered quill and copied it quickly.

Madame Ambrose took it and read it over, pursing her lips then nodding in satisfaction. "Good. Good. Now take this dear," she extended her wand and Hermione looked at her in surprise.

"Don't be shy now, just give it a wave and we'll make sure everything is in order."

Hermione obeyed, swishing it with a gentle flick of the wrist. It sparked and she yelped, letting it clatter back on the desk.

The older witch laughed. "Not a good match, but don't be discouraged. A wand rarely performs well except for it's master. But you are indeed a witch."

Until now, Hermione had never considered that it might be in doubt. "So I can go to school?" She asked.

Ambrose frowned, tapping her wand lightly against the desk. "It's hard to say. Because of your age; Your lack of previous magical experience. It will be extremely difficult to catch up, and I don't know that the Headmaster will accept you in the younger classes. It might be better to get private tutoring," she sighed. "But if the ministry would fund it is another question. Private tutoring is more expensive than the tuition at Hogwarts. We do try to take care of our own but…"

Hermione was fighting off panic. Not going to Hogwarts was inconceivable. She was not in her own time, and it was the only thing she knew, the only thing she had. "Please!" she blurted. "I only just found out there are other people like me." Tears rose in her eyes. "I want to go to school! I'll study hard!" Like catching up would be a problem. "I can read like anything. I spend all my time at the library, and I'm good at learning. If I don't go to school how will I make any friends?"

The older witch nodded. "Yes Hogwarts would be better, I'm not saying it wouldn't." She frowned. "Dippet will have to be convinced but… Well I'll try my best." she smiled sympathetically. "In any case, even if you do go to school we will have to have you placed. Hogwarts doesn't let students stay over the summer."

"Placed?" Hermione supposed she would need somewhere to live. "Where?" The nervousness in her voice wasn't faked.

"Well we may have some options," she smoothed her hands over the desk. "Would you like tea dear?" she waved her wand and a teapot rattled on the shelf behind her desk, letting out steam. Before Hermione's eyes it raised up and poured hot tea into the teacup on the desk.

"Yes please," Hermione murmured. "Do you have honey?"

The honey floated over and squirted into the cup. Madame Ambrose waved her wand in a stirring motion then passed Hermione the teacup. Hermione felt herself relaxing. She even smiled. "Thank you. I've never seen someone do that."

Ambrose winked. "You'll see other wonderful things too. Don't be too afraid dear. Now in terms of placement, we can try to find a family to take you in, or we can place you in a care facility. As I understand it, we have a current student who is placed in an orphanage on east end."

Hermione already had parents. She missed them more than anything already. If someone took it into their head to parent her, they would undoubtedly pry. Hermione had enough to hide without the risk of slipping in front of a surrogate family. "The orphanage would be Ok. If there's another student there I won't be alone right?" Hermione smiled.

The older woman frowned, and Hermione could tell this hadn't been the answer she was expecting. "You're certain? I'm sure that there are plenty of lovely families that wouldn't mind an addition."

Hermione frowned. "If that's true why is there a student in an orphanage?"

Madame Ambrose grimaced. "An unusual situation that. The truth is, he was born there, and he's in the muggle records. It was judged that the paperwork to make him disappear was too strenuous. We have laws you see. The statute of secrecy means we have to avoid drawing muggle attention. Once he's of age no one will pay him any mind if he disappears, but even muggles take note if a child goes missing."

Hermione nodded slowly. "I see. Well, I'd still rather. If he lives there without any other magic user, I'm sure he'll want to make friends."

That answer seemed to please Madame Ambrose. "Ah yes, it would be better for him. I'm sure you'll get along nicely, he's a lovely boy I think. We've met just twice. Well if you're sure. But you should know magic isn't permitted outside school without adult supervision. If you live in the muggle world you'll be expected to abide by those rules." Her face was quite stern, but it was nothing new to Hermione, so she only nodded.

"Very well, I can arrange for that on the morrow. We have some paperwork to fill out. I'll need to take an imprint of your magical signature, that will tell us your identity, and test your age with an age line. We can start at twelve-" Hermione tried not to make a face, but knew she was small enough to cause reasonable doubt.

"-And move up from there."

Hermione nodded miserably, and hoped that her age wouldn't cause more trouble for her.

"Do you have a surname dear? You'll need to take one."

There was a long pause while Hermione considered. "Granger," she finally decided. "I read it in a book once," she added quickly.

"It'll do." Ambrose murmured.

Taking her signature went off without a hitch. Her age was another matter.

They tried the age line for half an hour. Ambrose drew one at twelve, and Hermione couldn't step over. Then they tried eleven. And ten. And nine. At eight she finally stopped, incredulous. "Well I never. You are definitely older than eight years old. What on earth is the matter?"

"Maybe because I don't know?" Hermione offered shyly.

"What you know shouldn't matter." Ambrose muttered, "Fourteen you say? Fourteen it is. Ruddy age line."

* * *

Madame Ambrose walked with Hermione to the door, and as soon as it opened the secretary called in, "Mrs. Ambrose, Lord Black came back and left something for you, it's here on the desk."

Eyebrows high, she led Hermione 'Jean Granger', out into the reception area, and picked up the small pouch with an expression of curiosity. "Thank you, Ms. Parkinson. Feel free to go on lunch early and take your time. I have no appointments today and I will be out of the office for a portion of the afternoon on business."

A brief expression of delight and gratitude flitted across the secretaries slightly snobbish face; momentarily reminding Hermione of a real person. Guiltily, she regretted her immature behaviour before, and made an attempt to smile at the dubbed 'Ms. Parkinson' as she passed. She needn't have bothered. All she got for her effort was an upturned nose.

She was saved from offense by the sound of Madame Ambrose opening the curious pouch, and all thought of the secretary fled as soon as she was out the door. The lady's slight inhale of shock startled her, but before she could ask after the cause Madame Ambrose let out a short laugh, and pulled a book bigger than what should have fit out of the pouch. She directed a sardonic look at Hermione and handed her the tome. "I think he intends this for you." Hermione took it awkwardly, not expecting the weight and almost dropping it before catching sight of the title; 'Wizarding etiquette for the inadequate.' Hermione wondered briefly if she was going to do anything but blush today, but luckily her companion was too busy peering back into the pouch to notice. "And this as well, how unexpected. You must have made some impression," she took the book back and inserted it at an angle, watching in satisfaction as it disappeared then briskly handing Hermione the surprisingly light purse. She was shocked to hear the faint jingle of metal coins.

Madame Ambrose fixed Hermione with an appraising look. "Are you sure you don't want to consider a magical guardian? Perhaps if Lord Black took interest enough to-"

Hermione drew herself back. "Lord Black does not seem the kind of man to hold back if he had intentions of that kind. I am grateful for his consideration," Hermione stressed politely, "but I have no intention of asking for any more."

"My my, and independant too. If I know anything about muggle child care, they'll have their hands full with you." She sounded appreciative, so Hermione took it as a compliment, though she resolved to be less plucky. "If you're insistent, then let's go and get your papers sorted out, and I'll post this letter to the headmaster at Hogwarts. You're too old to start with the first years, but if you're studious you may be able to catch up to your year-mates." She looked slightly dubious, but Hermione didn't take offense. "You read well, at the very least. Speaking of reading, hand me that book back. I'll charm it so no muggles will look, and we'll try to get you placed for today. You may have to stay at the leaky today, but we'll sort it." Hermione complied without complaint, mind abuzz as her temporary guardian tutted on about the extra stop at Gringotts that was now necessary. While they were at it, they may as well stop at the bookstore, since she would need some school books. Just the basics of course for today- A wand would be necessary too, but she wasn't to use it outside of school.

Hermione was far gone, lost in the thoughts of a world that seemed forever away, and the mysterious kindness of strangers.

* * *

She had a new wand, and new books. And new robes. Madame Ambrose had insisted that she get some clothes that weren't torn up, So she had some very properly pleated ankle length skirts "for casual wear", as well as a few blouses and undergarments. Madame Ambrose had at least allowed her to choose her own, though she had given Hermione a stern look when she approached the pants. Hermione had wisely chosen to refrain from engaging in that battle. She would be an oddity as it was. After the necessary shopping, Hermione had been handed a few knuts and sickles, as well as a vault key. "But be responsible," Madame Ambrose cautioned. "Ministry funds only last so far and will cover the cost of school supplies and tuition, but you can stretch what you've received from Lord Black for at least 3 years of school if you are careful."

Hermione nodded, "I have more than enough. It's more than I've had in a long time." That touch of humbleness made the older which smile. "Well then, you must be hungry after all that. Let's go to the Leaky cauldron and we can get a bite to eat.

A half hour later, Madame Ambrose was watching as her new charge carefully sipped at a hearty beef broth, eating the contents daintily. She sat with her knees together primly, and frowned if she happened to spill any on her chin, quickly dabbing it with a napkin. Watching this tiny waif-ling eat, Madame Ambrose knew her suspicions had not been entirely incorrect.

"Jean dear?" she leaned forward. "I know you've said you don't know who your parents are..."

The girl stiffened predictably, and Ambrose continued on as if she hadn't noticed.

"But I wanted to ask and be certain. You have no guardians at all? Anyone who would be looking for you?"

Jean stared into her soup, looking more anguished than any 14 year old girl had a right to look. "If I've said why are you asking." she murmured, but not with any sort of sharpness, so Ambrose let it pass.

"I know what orphans look like girl. And you've got the sadness but not the manners. Someone taught you how to behave, so you must have lived somewhere."

Jean's lip trembled. "No one's looking for me." She whispered. "No one."

"And you're sure dear? What makes you certain?"

Hermione was in trouble. She knew Ambrose wasn't buying the orphan. She probably thought Hermione had run away. But if she thought that...she might try to make Hermione go back to where she came from, which wasn't possible. What could she say that would stop Madame Ambrose from trying to find her guardians? A thought of Harry popped into her head. _'They called me a freak._ ' his voice sounded. _'Vernon tried to beat the freakishness out of me, and more than once.'_

Hermione raised her eyes, letting her anger touch the surface. The anger was real, even if it wasn't for her. "No ones looking." She said coldly, watching the shock on Madame Ambrose's face and knowing she had made the right choice. "They called me a freak!" Her voice rose just slightly, shaking. "They tried to beat the freakishness out of me!"

Ambrose's mouth fell open and her eyes opened wide, she reached out with one hand, probably to try and calm Hermione down. She shrank back as if afraid, "If you try to make me go back-" Her voice shook harder, trying to sound threatening. "If you try to make me go back I'll-"

"Shhh" Ambrose stood, raising both hands. "Jean, Jean dear calm down. No one will...make you go back," she soothed. "Everything will be alright, that's a dear. Finish your soup."

Hermione sat with her shoulder's hunched, terrified and hardly believing that had worked. She was startled to find she was trying not to cry as she stared down at the table. "Please," her voice quivered. "Please don't tell anyone."

Trying to fight her own anger at what this tiny girl had gone through, Ambrose reached out and patted her on the back. "The paperwork is already filled out dear, no need to make any changes now," she soothed. "Here now, if you aren't hungry anymore why don't you go up to your room. Have one of the maids draw you a nice bath and you can brush out that hair. You'll feel better being nice and clean, and then come down to the ministry bright and early. We can see the Headmaster's response, and get you all set up. Will you be alright on your own tonight dear?"

Hermione nodded, sniffling, but still making an effort to finish her soup. She suddenly found that she was in fact much hungrier than she had been earlier. Muffling tears that were real, though not for the reason Madame Ambrose thought, she practically inhaled the rest of her soup.

She promised to be at the ministry at 9 O'clock before she said goodbye and went to bed. She did take a bath, and spent a long time detangling her hair. She had done it. She had been registered with the ministry as a real witch, and she was certain that she would be accepted to school. Why else would Madame Ambrose have made her buy school robes? As she tried to fall asleep in the candlelit room of the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione realized that she was still deathly, terribly afraid. She had done the logical thing, and no one was the wiser that she had come from the future. Hermione hugged her pillow tight, curling her knees close against the twisting in her gut. How was she ever going to get home?

Hermione cried herself to sleep.


End file.
